To Heal The Dead
by Blue Dragon
Summary: We all know Nyneave's eventually going to do it. She's going to do the impossible. Here's my take on what might happen, when she arrives too late at the Gap and finds Lan... of course she can't accept that he's dead. He just needs a spot of healing...
1. Miracle at the Gap

**To Heal The Dead**

_I - Miracle at the Gap_

Reportedly the news came through a shocked Myrelle, and through Asha'man sent for confirmation. By a series of gateways they sought out the Dragon Reborn, found him on route between one battle and the next. In his presence was Nynaeve.

"My lord Dragon," said the Asha'man with an extravagant salute. "The Gap has fallen. The trollocs have broken through. The –"

Nynaeve didn't listen beyond that. The Gap had fallen? _Lan. Light, let him be safe_. They should not even have reached the Gap for days yet, but already? Already they had stood, and fought, and… and fallen.

She felt numb, as if she had fallen into an icy pond, and gripped her braid in both hands to keep herself steady. The Gap. He would still be there. He would not have left that battlefield freely. Shouldn't have been, not for days yet. She should have been there with him. She should have – but Rand had needed her – burn it, _Lan_ needed her – Lan, at the Gap. The Gap had fallen. She felt herself sway, like a sapling in the wind.

"_Nynaeve_!"

"Catch her!" boomed Rand's voice.

Hands caught her elbows and steadied her. Aiel Maidens, all around her. Aviendha before her in those Wise One skirts, that white blouse, peering at Nynaeve's face, already aglow with _saidar_ as if to prepare a healing.

Nynaeve shook her head, murmured that she was alright, and swept the hands off her. She could stand. Aviendha released the source and stepped back.

The Gap. Lan.

Rand sighed, his voice heavy. "Light, Nynaeve, if I knew I'd taxed you that hard – you should have told me you were tired –" He had come to face her, to watch her with concern in his eyes. She was glad to see that _concern_. None of them were quite sure how it had come to be, but he laughed again. He cried again. He _cared_. She patted his cheek. She let a small weave of healing sink into his skin, too; he needed it.

"I'm alright," she told him. "But excuse me. There's something I need to do."

She turned from him and began to weave her own gateway.

"Where are you going?"

She blinked at him. Didn't he understand? "To the Gap."

Rand looked at Aviendha. Then he looked at Min. Min raised an eyebrow; Aviendha straightened the shawl over her shoulders in a very Wise One manner. They both spoke to him without words. Rand sighed.

"Neaff. Tell Logain to assume command here. He's to work with Rhuarc. _With_, not _against_! You, and Jahar, and Narishma, and as many Asha'man capable in healing as we have, and bring your Aes Sedai. In fact, bring… all the Aes Sedai. If there's anyone still alive at the Gap, we need every healer we have. I expect it's been brutal. Tell Mat and Bashere that I'm going to be late. Let Logain keep as many as he needs, but send the other Asha'man to Mat, and – burn it, Nynaeve, _wait_!"

Nynaeve was already stepping through her hole in the air She'd made it small. Still a couple of Maidens managed to squeeze past her and stream out ahead. Beside her side, another gateway opened. Aviendha came through, aglow with _saidar_ again, her hand on the hilt of her dagger. More Maidens of the Spear streamed through her gateway; she'd made it bigger than Nynaeve's. She caught one Maiden's arm and spoke hastily into her ear. Ripples of hand-talk criss-crossed between the women as they ran and spread to secure the area.

Nynaeve let them go. More gateways opened, all around, some by Aes Sedai, many by Asha'man. Rand and Min came through one, Moiraine and Thom through another, Alivia opening a larger one to let through a rustling, colourful swarm of Aes Sedai and their Warders. Damer Flinn and his Corele, Narishma and Merise and her other Warders, an as-ever scowling Karldin and his Beldeine. Several groups of Illianer soldiers, by now so accustomed to gateways – even _saidin_ gateways – that they didn't even eye the portals twice.

Nynaeve looked around. Truth to be told, now that she was here, she didn't know what to do.

The sky looked like waves of darkness, tendrils of it reaching towards the ground as if to snake down and snatch things. The ground was black with soaked-in blood, and she could hardly take three steps without having to raise her skirts to step over a dead trolloc, a torn-apart man, a horse's broken limbs. Broken weaponry lay everywhere, pieces of armour. Tattered banners had fallen to the ground or still danced weakly in what wind could reach them.

There were other dead shadow spawn, too; things she couldn't put a name to. Things so distorted and horrible that they had no right to exist. Some corpses, even sprawled over the land as flat as they would go, were still taller than her head. The stench of it all made her want to retch. Blood and death was only a little part of it. The shadow spawn added their own distinct flavour.

Ravens flew everywhere, coming to feed from the flesh of the dead; but already they had begun to fall, struck by balls of flame from Asha'man or Aes Sedai, shot by arrows from Aiel Maidens or Illianers.

Fallen Myrddraal lay strewn over the field like specks of darkness, black armour and black clothing matching the skies above. Many of them still twitched, refusing to accept that they were beaten, but nothing else moved. It was all dead. They were all dead.

Nynaeve had visited more battlefields than she cared to, and there were always sounds. Weeping, moans, cries of the wounded, both horses and men. Here, there was only the cawing of the ravens. No man had been left wounded and alive to wail.

Trollocs _ate_ men. She saw limbs strewn, discarded, across the ground, some with teeth and tear marks in the flesh. Apparently whatever drove the creatures had not given them leave to stay and feast, but that had not stopped them from snatching a bite or two as they passed.

Somewhere in all this deadened madness was Lan, but she had no idea where. She wished again that she had held his bond, so she might have been able to find him. As it was, all that was left for her to do was to search. She gathered her skirts.

"They will seek _Aan'allein_ for you, Nynaeve al'Meara," said Aviendha to her, taking her arm gently and indicated the disappearing Maidens. "We will wait here, and they will find him."

Nynaeve nodded. That made sense. The Maidens could cover a lot of ground quickly; they would be more effective seeking than she would have been alone. She should have thought of that. "Thank you."

"You're lucky you didn't step right into a fist of trollocs," Min told her sharply. "Didn't you think of that? Honestly, Nynaeve! You could have _waited_!"

Nynaeve ignored her. Somewhere out there was _Lan_.

Light. Why hadn't she been with him?

Shouldn't have reached the Gap for days, yet.

She closed her hands about her braid and made herself breathe. The air was filthy, and she would rather have sat herself down to cry and weep – _no_, she would _not_. She was no air-headed ninny to break apart just because that fool of a man had gotten himself into trouble. Besides, Lan _would_ be alive. He would. If nothing else was right in the world, Lan _had_ _to_ be _alive_.

If he had gotten himself killed – _no_. No no _no_, she wouldn't even _think_ that. If he had gotten himself _hurt_ – why then she would heal him. She would heal him, and then she would teach him to run off and put himself in danger. If he had as much as a scratch, she'd be _furious_ with him. She would. Fool man. Her fingers dug into her braid and pulled steadily at it. Fool, _fool_ man.

"Well well well," came a dry voice, and Cadsuane strode past, right up to one of the hulking shadow spawn mounds. "A _dathin_. I never thought I'd see one of those outside the Blight. And lying still, too. How convenient." Her coterie of Aes Sedai shadowed her and they began to inspect the creature.

Ran himself was one of the last to come through a gateway, heeled by more Maidens and a duo of Asha'man. He surveyed the scene and then made his way to Nynaeve.

"You're lucky the trollocs had moved on," he told her with a frown. "The next time I tell you to _wait_, obey me. I don't have so many Wisdoms from Emond's Field that I can let them toss themselves to the winds."

Nynaeve looked aside. "I'm not one of your sworn Aes Sedai, Rand," she reminded him. "I still come and go as I please."

"It would have been for your own good," Rand muttered. "For your safety."

Nynaeve didn't bother to reprimand him. Her safety? She could take care of herself. But he was a man, after all, and she had begun to give up on ever making a man understand that.

There was a shrill whistle from further into the Gap, and a Maiden appeared atop the small hill made by a huge dead shadow spawn and waved a spear and a shield high above her head.

"They found him," Aviendha said. Then she caught Nynaeve's arm. "Wait here. They'll bring him here."

Nynaeve shook free, hitched her skirts, and began to run towards the far-off Maiden. She was barely aware of the knot of people that followed her. She was barely aware of all the limbs and bodies she stumbled over as she ran. Once she fell flat on her face, as a twitching Myrddraal grabbed at her skirts. She kicked its hand away, scrambled up, and ran on, uncaring.

They had found Lan. By the Light, let him just _live_!

Of course he lived. How could he not? He couldn't die away from her. Couldn't. She wouldn't bloody _let_ him die away from her. He had to _live_. She had healed Gentling. She had healed _Stilling_, burn her. Whatever ailed him, she could heal it. She would _not_ let him die.

Six Maidens came trotting towards her, carrying a still form wrapped in a Warder's cloak between them. For all their trotting, they carried the shape very carefully.

When Nynaeve finally reached them, they lowered their bundle to the ground. They swept the cloak away from the head end and Nynaeve looked…

Looked upon Lan's hard face. Blood had dried in a tendril from his mouth and down over his cheek, and he was very still. He was clearly badly wounded. She squatted down to stroke his cheeks. He was so cold, so very cold. She drew his matted hair away from his face, gently. They were together again, and she would make him well. She would heal him. She blinked the tears out of her eyes. Somewhere deep inside her a moan began to build, but she smothered it.

Anything could be healed – anything! Anything short of death. And of course, Lan would not die away from her. Burn him if he did. She would box his ears if he even considered it, and he knew it.

Rand and Min together drew her to her feet, as Aviendha knelt to examine Lan. Rand's arm came around her shoulders and he turned her firmly away.

"He's dead, Nynaeve –"

She shook her head, snaked free from his arm. Nonsense. Lan wouldn't be dead. Couldn't be _dead_. Anything could be healed. He would be well. Now that she had _found_ him, he would be well. "He just needs healing…"

"Nynaeve," came Min's pained voice. "Oh, Nynaeve. _Listen_. You can't heal him. He has –"

She ignored Min, tried to ignore Rand, but the Dragon Reborn gripped her arm and held her fast. Incredulously. Couldn't he see that Lan needed her help?

She cast her eyes about, and they were caught on Moiraine's face. Moiraine's cheeks were stained with tears. She reached out a hand, opened her mouth as if to say something, but –

How odd. Nynaeve paused, dazed, to consider. She couldn't remember ever seeing the little Aes Sedai weep before. Why would she weep now?

No matter. Lan needed her. Moiraine – Moiraine was irrelevant. Besides, she still had not forgiven Moiraine for…

No. _Irrelevant_. She tried to turn back to Lan, but Rand still held on to her arm.

"You will _release_ me, Rand al'Thor," she told him firmly, and met those grey eyes of his. Everything else was a haze to her, but she managed to focus on his eyes.

He had opened his mouth to protest – but now, looking upon her expression, he closed it again. He let go of her arm, let his hand drop.

She turned back to Lan, and folded her legs neatly beneath her as she sat down. Her weariness from previously was irrelevant; Lan needed her, and whatever strength was necessary she would summon. She pulled his head onto her lap. He could not be dead; his eyes were closed, he slept. Slept deeply. He was very… very cold. She would have to do something about that.

She wove Fire to warm him, thin weaves, not enough to burn him. She delved him – ah, but his poor body was broken. Stabbed and cut, bruised. A few ribs had cracked, his lungs filled with fluid. Something had penetrated his stomach and gone right out again, through his back, cracking his spine as it went. She worked methodically, beginning with his torn innards. Delicate weaves of healing, all five powers combined; weaves that fetched their might from _saidar_ itself, and drew little from her, drew nothing from Lan. He had none to spare. She, too, was exhausted, but for Lan… for Lan, she could find that extra vestige of strength.

She applied each like a seamstress would a patch, and checked her work for flaws before she went on. When he woke, he would need his body in better shape than this. She wanted him to wake and be healthy. She went on with his fractured ribs, with gashes that ran over his chest, with the broken collar bone. How had he managed to get himself this _hurt_? He hadn't sense to know when to turn and run.

Oh, he wouldn't have been _Lan_ if he'd had.

She wove and laid weaves, felt and watched as flesh and sinew knitted together under her direction. She heard murmurs around her, soft arguments, and Rand's voice, low but curt, silencing them all. Good, if he kept them from disturbing her. She had work to do. She needed to make Lan well again.

While she worked on his body, she searched within him for that spark of life she knew would be there. There was only… emptiness. She searched deeper. Lan was there, somewhere. She just had to search deeply enough. He slept so very deeply. She had seen a man in such deep sleep, once. As if his soul was elsewhere.

Elsewhere. She just had to find it. There should be a link somewhere…

The connection between his body and his soul and mind appeared severed, like a person stilled was cut from the Source, and she scouted the body's side of it; a line of sorry threads, like the frayed edge of torn fabric. Good; if it had been torn, she could knit it together. She searched the edge, feeling along the threads to find those still hanging on to the other end. Some of them were short, some were longer, but none ended in anything substantial. They did, however, drag in a certain direction, as if pulled or reaching out. She followed that direction.

She seemed to be descending into emptiness. It wasn't a terrible place, nor a happy one, but one so empty of shape or form or scale that she couldn't decide if it constricted her or tried to make her expand indefinitely. She went on descending. Lan would be somewhere down there, wherever there was. She was certain of it.

Alarmed voices called out when her body collapsed behind her. She was too focused on her search to care. Deeper, deeper. Darkness or light, she couldn't tell. Free or choking, she couldn't tell. Deeper, and deeper. She passed the last of the frayed strings… he must have held on long to them, to have pulled them so far. They still offered her a direction, though, and further she went. Deeper, still deeper.

Somewhere down there was Lan, and she would continue until she found him. That was all. She would continue until she found him.

She didn't know how long she searched, how long she descended, and at times she wasn't certain of who she was. Why was she there, in this place that was neither there, nor not there?

But never once could she forget what she sought. She sought Lan, all of Lan, from his intense blue eyes to his loyalty. His strength, his determination and steadfastness. She hunted after his undying love for her. His courage, his honour.

She remembered how he used to kiss her, how he used to touch her. She remembered the feel of his calloused hands on her skin. The look in his eyes when he watched her.

If he had been torn to a thousand pieces, she could have put him back together again. A strand from here, a part from there. She knew him so well; she would recognize him anywhere. Even in a place like this. In a place like this, it was easier to hold to the thought of him, than to hold to the thought of herself. His deadly grace when he fought. The hard muscles of his arms when they enfolded her. Tenderness, varied with ferocity. Love beyond all sense and sanity.

She sought his weathered face, his angular features. She sought the way he would stand at her shoulder, and she would be safe.

Lan. Al'Lan Mandragoran, her husband.

Thinking of him, she found him. Strand by strand, as she had suspected. She began to weave him back together. His courage, his calloused hands; how he had saved her from drowning. A thought would come to her, and as if in response, there was another strand of him. Once she had begun it was surprisingly simple to gather it all up, easy to braid it back together. His soft voice, that warned of ire. She would have hummed or sang to herself as she worked, but her own voice seemed far off. She wasn't even sure that she had a voice.

How seriously he took his oaths; his eternal quest to avenge what could not be defended. All of him, all she found and all that followed what she found, until the weave it formed was perfect. The frayed edges were there still, but those she could heal later. She just had to make sure it was all with her before she returned. Before she returned…

Where had she come from?

She was lost. She had found him, she had gathered him and woven him back together ever so neatly. But why?

She herself was unravelling, came a thought. This was a place where things unravelled. She kept him carefully together, but there was nothing to keep _her_ together.

She felt a moment of panic.

Then came a light touch. A tendril of Spirit reached her, from somewhere far above. It glowed like a golden vine, inviting her to take hold, to follow it. She did. It _pulled_ at her. She felt herself begin to split, as part followed that vein of Spirit, and part wanted to flee out into that nothingness.

She had to keep herself complete. She had pulled _him_ together. What use would it be if she let _herself_ unravel..? If she stopped feeling, stopped thinking, she would stop _being_.

She remembered life. Sun on her face, wind on her skin, rain soaking through her cloak. Laughter and tears, pain and joy. The taste of food, the scent of forest. How to dance, how to move through woodlands without being seen. Her father had taught her to read the land. She had taught Egwene about herbs.

Yes, _life_, sweet life. She reached for the light above her and drew on it, let it fill her. She glowed with it. It was pure bliss. Within that bliss she found her focus, and could knot herself tightly together again. She followed the vein of Spirit, she carried him along with her, and she bathed herself in the memory of living. Every sensation grew sharper, every memory clearer.

It was hard to rise. The tendril of Spirit pulled at her, but something held her back.

Burn it, but she needed to go _up_. She fought it. She grasped every shred of memory, every shred of self, every vestige of _life_ she could summon and hold; she clawed and dug and beat her way upwards. She swam. Under that river again, captured in that boat, drowning. Surrendering. _Saidar_, and bursting free. Lan, coming to save her.

Only this time, Lan would not save her. She had to save him.

She swam, she let _saidar_ soak her until it burned, until she would have screamed had she only had her voice, until she thought her mind would explode with ecstasy. And she sent it forth. Spirit to find her way back, to connect to that golden life-line someone had sent down for her. Earth and Fire and Water and Air, all joined with Spirit, to push through the nothingness that in fact did _constrict_ her. Her own link to the above she strengthened. She began to find those last, longest strands of Lan's broken ties to his body, and triumphantly she could join the two parts of him. Healing weaves, all while she fought on against the nothingness that now tried to pull her under.

More of _saidar_. Aglow until she could hardly think, it was barely enough to keep her afloat. She needed to reach the surface. She hung on to the links she was forging between Lan and his body, followed them upward.

That golden line of Spirit helped. It had grown stronger. It was joined by Air and Water; the old healing weaves. Nynaeve felt them sink into her. The chill made her gasp and shudder.

She was back. She opened her eyes.

"Nynaeve, you need to let go, before you burn yourself out," came Moiraine's voice in her ear. The little Aes Sedai sat beside her, one hand firm around her chin to raise her face. "Let go."

Nynaeve tried to shake her off, but couldn't. She felt so very weak.

"Let go, Nynaeve," repeated Moiraine. "_Now_."

Nynaeve closed her eyes and focused back beneath. For once, she didn't need to _see_ her weaves. She _felt_ them. The ragged edges between Lan's body and soul. Spirit, Fire, Earth, Water and Air; all five powers to tie them back together, secure them. She smiled to herself as she worked. Life and saidar was sweet enough to make her dizzy. She would have cried out if she could have found her voice.

The nothingness began to pull at her again, snagged about her, grasped for Lan as well. She needed to be stronger. She needed to defend them both, or they would drown and unravel in the depths. Surrender to _saidar_, burst free, and then swim. She drew deeper. She wove as fast as she dared, as tenderly as she could. This needed to be perfect. It needed to be –

_Cold_. She shuddered awake once more, but determinately closed her eyes again. Couldn't they leave her alone? _Voices_. She shut them out.

Burning bliss in an unceasing torrent, until her eyes teared and her body convulsed. Someone slapped her across the face, and the pain made her cry out. She was so keenly aware, both of her body, and of her soul. She hovered somewhere on the brink between that endless life, and the nothingness beneath.

A few more weaves and Lan would be saved.

"Let go, you fool _girl_!" came Cadsuane's command, somehow breaking through Nynaeve's rapture and making her mind ring like a gong.

A few more strands. Earth and Fire so, with Spirit to bind them. Couldn't they see that she was saving him? Couldn't they see that – Water and Air and Fire, _there_ – that if she let go now, she would sink into that unknown nothingness?

_Saidar_ was all that kept her from drowning. Lan would not dive in to save her, this time. She had to swim on her own. _Saidar_ would keep her afloat.

The last weave; the last knot. She surveyed her work for a moment. It was done. It was well done.

Light, but she was exhausted. She couldn't relax yet. She still had to claw her way back to herself, somehow. The voices were gone again. During her last patching she had sunk deeper than she realised. She couldn't hear anything, couldn't see. There was no cold, no blackness, nothing. Only _saidar_.

Frantically she drew deeper. _Deeper_. Joy, life, sensations sharp enough to cut her, wild enough to tear her apart. Surrender to it, let it draw her along. It would not draw her _under_. It would keep her afloat.

Then somehow she came out on the other side. On… the other side of _saidar_. That all-encompassing ecstasy was snuffed out like a candle – and without it she began rapidly to sink into nothingness. She grasped for it, but it was no longer there. She would have howled, but her voice was still so far away –

_Cold_, again. Cold, and she opened her eyes.

"You foolish, _foolish_ girl!" snapped Cadsuane at her. "Congratulations. You have surpassed yourself in stupidity."

Nynaeve realised that she was lying on her back on the ground. Well; upon a cloak someone had spread beneath her. Moiraine peered down at her, as did Min and Aviendha, and Corele and Damer Flinn's weathered face.

"You've _wasted_ yourself. With Tarmon Gaidon upon us any moment, you've gone and burned yourself out. A waste! We can heal stilling and gentling, but – as you've already discovered – not _burning out_."

Nynaeve closed her eyes and tried to care. She didn't. She had succeeded. She was sure of it. It had been the most difficult healing of her life, but she was certain she had succeeded. Lan would live. Lan would stay with her. Joy stronger than life bloomed in her until she thought she would burst with it. But she had barely the strength left to smile.

"Fool girl." Cadsuane must be truly upset with her for all this raving. She was surprised to find that the old hag _cared_ – then again, of course she cared. Nynaeve was a valuable tool in the battle to come, one Cadsuane had surely intended to _use_. "And for what? For _what_? Because you don't know when to bloody _give over_ –"

"Cadsuane," Moiraine's voice broke in.

Incredibly, Cadsuane paused. Curiously, Nynaeve opened her eyes.

Cadsuane had begun to frown, and turned to the Blue sister, clearly reacting to the shaky incredulity in Moiraine's voice. "What is it?"

"He lives," Moiraine said simply. "She has actually –"

"She can't have," murmured a white-faced Corele, her hand going to her mouth. "She can't have…"

They all grew silent. They began to draw away, leaving Nynaeve lying on that cloak. But she didn't care. She was too weak to lift her arms, but now she could smile. For coming towards her on all fours was Lan. He sat up on his knees, raised her from the ground and gathered her into his arms. She giggled weakly. His strong, safe arms. He bent his head and buried it in her hair, held her against him, and she was content to sit there. In his arms. He was alive, and he was with her.

"I… I thought I was dead," he murmured. "I thought I'd never see you again. Light be praised it wasn't so."

Nynaeve breathed in his scent and closed her eyes. Nothing mattered but Lan, and Lan was safe and healthy. Now she could sleep. She was so very tired.

"What's the matter with her?" asked Lan, raising his head to look about. "Is she ill? What's she done? Moiraine – _Moiraine_?!" His arms tightened about her. "Light! Are the dead walking?"

"They apparently _are_," Min muttered loudly, only to be hushed by several others.

"I was never quite as dead as you thought," Moiraine told her former Warder softly. "As for Nynaeve –"

"The girl is exhausted," came Cadsuane's brisk tones. "You may question Moiraine later. For now, see to your wife. You will have to carry her back to her chambers. I'll have Corele and Damer stay with the two of you until you are both rested and back on your feet. I'm sure that… the lord Dragon… will be able to find you chambers somewhere, even at such short notice."

"Of – of course," Rand agreed. His voice sounded as incredulous as everyone else's. "Damer, open a gateway to Illian, and –"

Nynaeve was weakly aware of how Lan gently lifted her into his arms and stood. She leaned her head against his chest, still smiling. Lan was with her, and all was well with the world.

She sighed contently and let her exhaustion finally demand its price. She fell asleep.

- - - - - - - - -

_Author's Note:_

Please take the time to review. It would make me very happy to know what people think, for better or for worse. I suspect I will be editing this one a couple of times in the near future, so if you have any comments or suggestions I'll be happy to take them into account when I do.


	2. Conversations between comrades

**To Heal The Dead**

_II – Conversation between comrades_

When a knock landed on the door, Lan's hand went to his sword. He glanced down at his wife, but she gave no reaction. She had fallen asleep again. For the last two days she had done little but sleep; and he _worried_. If losing _saidar_ affected her like it affected most Aes Sedai…

"Enter," he called.

Moiraine slipped into the room.

Lan did not ease his grip on his sword, and shifted slowly into the ready-stance called the Swan On The Lake. No one else seemed surprised to see Moiraine walk among them again, but to him it was impossible. He had seen her die. He had _felt_ her die. A part of him had died with her.

The… lack of her… was no longer in his head. Neither was Myrelle. Not since he had woken up in the Gap. Some of his old aches were also gone; muscles and skin usually stiff due to old scars now flexed easily. Enough remained to remind him that he was alive, that he was mortal and could be hurt, but Nynaeve had done a good job at healing him. He felt years younger.

_A good job_? Light, she had _healed_ him from the _dead_. So they told him, and she had near killed herself doing it. The thought made him feel cold. Bloody woman didn't know what was good for her, and never had.

In that way she was very much Aes Sedai.

"I'm no ghost, Lan," Moiraine said, watching him and reading him as easily as if their bond had still been in place.

Lan did not move, did not release his sword. With Nynaeve there he would take no chances. Had she not been there, his reaction might have been different. He had _failed_ Moiraine. He had sworn to defend her, his life before hers, and he had failed her. Duty was heavier than a mountain; especially when you forgot to hold it up and dropped it on your own bloody head.

She should not have died that day at the docks; he should have paid in blood to keep her alive. He should have tried harder to protect her. His honour was his word, and a Warder's honour was his Aes Sedai's life. He had failed at both. What honour was left him?

Moiraine would have the right to whatever recompense she deemed fit – once he could make certain she was _real_. Until he was certain, he would give no ground. If this wasn't Moiraine, but some elaborate trick of the Dark One…

Lan would not fail Nynaeve, too.

"Then tell me this," he said, still in Swan On The Lake and ready to draw. "Who did you send me to when –"

"Myrelle."

"What did I burn the day I accepted your bond?"

"Your _daori_. You called it burning your past."

"What did I do when you tried to take my sword from me?"

"You threw me into a pond, and later I threw that pond back at you. There was also a lot of insects involved on that trip, though I never did get around to those wasps." She smiled thinly. "You are _still_ not allergic to wasps, are you, master Lan? Just in case I ever find that your humility is losing its edge again."

That had to be enough. The _daori_ proved it, the wasps proved it, and the reference to his humility that she ever liked to keep well honed proved it. He dropped into a Borderland lord's bow before her; one knee to the ground, his left hand on his sword, right fist to the floor, and bowed his head "Honour to serve, Moiraine Sedai. My life is yours." And he might as well say it at once. "That day at the dock. I… will make amends. However you see fit."

"By the Light, Lan," sighed Moiraine. "Rise!"

He stood up. When she sternly indicated her eyes, he even met them. Large, dark eyes with uncountable secrets. So very familiar to him.

_But he had felt her die_, and the mere memory of that pain was enough to make him tremble. He snatched after the _ko'di_ and schooled himself to stillness. "I will make amends," he repeated.

Moiraine fixed him with her sternest Aes Sedai gaze. "If you insist, then very well. Hear your _amends_, Lan Mandragoran, and do not argue: _you will forgive yourself_."

He blinked. Even wrapped in the _ko'di_ as he was, he felt startled.

"Mind if I sit down?"

He indicated an armchair that half-faced Nynaeve's. He himself remained standing. Habit near as old as he was made him feel safer on his feet. Moiraine sat herself down, smoothed her blue silk skirts over her knees, and laid her arms on the armrests, much like a queen on a throne. She leaned discreetly back; a queen relaxed on her throne.

Anyone else would have missed it, but Lan could see that she was tired, and uneasy, like a rabbit scenting the fox anew after days of being hunted. For a moment he near wished for the bond; he would have liked to know _how_ tired. If she was tired enough for him to _see_ it…

And he would have liked to know the cause of her unease.

"I must ask you to forgive me, my friend," Moiraine went on. "You did not fail me. I set you up for failure, and the fault is mine. I am sorry to have caused you pain, but the alternatives were… worse. You'll have to trust me on that."

Lan nodded slowly. A movement from Nynaeve made him glance her way: her head had fallen to the side where she sat, but she seemed comfortable. The blanket stayed tucked about her, and she remained deeply asleep.

All that sleep, it might mean nothing, might be pure exhaustion. But it still worried him. He had seen soldiers lose heart and grow passive, begin to sleep overmuch, and then die. How did it go for Aes Sedai who lost _saidar_?

"How is she?" Moiraine wondered.

"She's practically slept since we came here," Lan replied.

"May I..?"

Lan nodded.

Moiraine rose gracefully, stepped up to Nynaeve's side and set a finger gently to her forehead. "She's still exhausted. Has she eaten enough?"

"She eats what they bring her that doesn't go bad between the kitchen and here. I make sure she does." He was careful to keep the concern out of his voice. "Should she be sleeping so long?"

"There is healing in sleep," Moiraine reminded him. She returned to her seat and reassumed that queenly poise, from which she studied him until he felt like squirming.

He clung to the _ko'di_ and made himself stand still.

When she spoke, it was very formally. "I hereby release you from your vows to me, al'Lan Mandragoran. Go in the Light and be at peace."

Twice in so short a time she surprised him, but this time he did not blink. He bowed his head to her, and that was all.

"I hope that is enough to satisfy your honour, my friend," Moiraine told him. "I want you free to focus on your wife."

"It will be enough," Lan said. She had released him of her own free will, and even if it chafed, it had to be enough. The bond was no more, even the wound after it was now only a memory. All that remained was an insistent voice in the back of his head that told him he had a debt he could never settle. His life before hers, and he had failed. His companion for so many years, so many battles, and he had failed her. How to repay her?

_Forgive himself_? Difficult enough, which she likely knew. Burn him, but the woman knew him too well. Burn her, but she was right; Nynaeve had to be his priority now. She _was_ his priority.

But Moiraine was still… _Moiraine_. He could not forget all they had been through just because he no longer served her, or because he no longer felt the pain of… of failing her. "How did you survive?" he asked.

"I'll tell you the long version some other day," Moiraine promised. "For now, know this. I was trapped in the world of the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn, and recently Thom and young Matrim rescued me."

"How –"

She raised a hand to silence him. "Not _now_, Lan. The Dragon Reborn has demands on my time, and I must keep myself brief." She studied Nynaeve again. "Did Corele tell you what she did?"

"They told me I was dead, and that she healed me. I don't know if I can believe it."

"Believe it. It is true. Though if I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it either. Did Corele and that Asha'man of hers try to heal the… burning out?"

Just to say it made Moiraine feel ill. It showed in that slight hesitation. Lan tried not to think about that. He had known Aes Sedai to fall over retching when _burning out_ came up, and Nynaeve… had to live it. He hoped it was just exhaustion that made her sleep so. Light make it so.

"Yes, but without success. They also questioned her."

"You disapprove?"

"She needed rest, and they kept her awake. It was inconsiderate. If Corele hadn't promised to ease some of that fatigue, I'd have thrown them both out." By the scruffs of their necks, One Power or not.

"Did they learn anything of use?"

Lan shrugged. "Nynaeve described… what she did. But neither of the two seemed pleased with her answers."

"I doubt her feat will be repeated," Moiraine murmured thoughtfully. "At such a price… did she say why she insisted on drawing so much? We tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen."

"She said that _saidar_ kept her afloat, if barely, and she drew more and more to try to come back up."

"But it wasn't enough." Moiraine sighed, and turned her eyes from Nynaeve to Lan. "At the end of your healing, I could have sworn by the Light that Nynaeve was as dead as you had been. The moment after she lost _saidar_ I delved her and found nothing. Not a spark. I healed her anyway, on an impulse, and somehow that brought her back."

"Then I am still indebted to you, for saving her," Lan said.

"As I will always be to her, for saving you when I abandoned you. Count us even."

He nodded, but he still felt uncomfortable. The price of an Aes Sedai's help was always smaller than you could believe and greater than you could imagine. Would Moiraine someday come back, to jerk those strings and make him – or Nynaeve – dance?

_No_. Not this time, he concluded. This woman, who he had always known to tie strings to everyone around her in preparation for some unknown future need, now seemed determined to sever any strings between the two of them. He had to trust that she meant what she said; she wanted him to belong fully to Nynaeve.

She had said it, and by the First Oath, it had to be so.

Moiraine went on. "I have a wedding gift for the two of you."

Lan recognized the focused look on her face as she began to channel something complex. He made himself stand still for it; he trusted her, if he trusted any Aes Sedai. He did. He just didn't like being _channelled_ at when he didn't know –

A familiar knot of _other_ bloomed in his head. He stared at her; she couldn't have bonded him again, could she?

Outside the _ko'di_, rage flared. Burn the woman if –

No. If he closed his eyes and pointed, his hand wouldn't aim at Moiraine. It would aim at his wife. _At his wife_. The _ko'di_ wavered at that realisation. He controlled his shock, and stopped just short of gaping. How..?

"Min, of all people, has the Lord Dragon as her bonded Warder," Moiraine said, with that same small, secretive smile that could drive people to pull their hair out in frustration. "She told me of it, and made Aviendha show me the weave."

"You could have asked," gritted Lan.

"I simply couldn't imagine that either of you would object," Moiraine said innocently, and Lan could have sworn she was laughing on the inside. "I know Nynaeve wanted you for a Warder. And since you married her, which I assume was of your free will… don't scowl at me, Lan. Isn't it a marvellous gift?"

He smoothed his face with an effort. She was right. "It is."

In his head, Nynaeve was asleep, but she was unharmed, and at peace. Exhaustion dominated the bond – and he could have wept with relief. He had to wait until she woke to know… but with that exhaustion so apparent, his concern eased. Moiraine, too, had slept for days when she had overtaxed herself. It was no reason to fret.

"Thank you," he voiced, and meant it.

"Give Nynaeve my regards," Moiraine said in reply. "The Dragon Reborn calls everyone to him for Tarmon Gaidon, and I must go with him. Word is being spread to his allies as we speak. They'll be gathering."

Lan watched Nynaeve. She was so very beautiful, even huddled in an armchair with her head rather inelegantly lolled to the side. He was loathe to leave her again. But it had to be. This one, last time. "Tell Rand that I'll be along shortly."

"What of Nynaeve?" Moiraine wondered. "With or without _saidar_, she is still Nynaeve. She'll want to ride out and fight."

"She can't channel."

"Do you think a little thing like that would stop Nynaeve al'Meara?" smiled Moiraine.

"_I_ can stop her," he muttered. "She can't channel at _me_, either. That means –"

Moiraine quirked a single eyebrow. "That means you can tie her up, lock her in a closet, and come back when Tarmon Gaidon is all over."

"…precisely."

"If you did, and _if_ we win, and _if_ you survived, would she ever forgive you?"

"No," gritted Lan. "But she would be safe."

"_Safe_?" repeated Moiraine, now with both eyebrows raised. She looked honestly surprised, and then the tiniest of frowns creased her brow. "Tell me, Lan. How much like a Warder do you feel now, bonded to a woman who can't channel?"

He shifted at the odd question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this. You haven't left this room, so perhaps you haven't noticed. But for two days now there have been bubbles of evil and Darkhounds and _draghkar_ and Grey Men and simple Darkfriends wherever we turn. For two days I've felt like there's a Myrddraal no more than a step behind me and trollocs all around me. The Dark One's taint is so thick in the air it makes me want to retch. All the sisters feel it, and the Asha'man, too. At least, Damer Flinn admitted as much when Corele asked him. And the Warders are prowling about like hissing tomcats. It began when the Gap fell, and it's grown worse for each passing hour. Don't you feel it?"

"A Warder should," he agreed. Then shook his head in consternation. "But I don't."

She filed that inkling of information away – he could see the study in her gaze – but then moved on. She was no Brown, to lose herself in details. She would return to it when there was time. "Lan, I don't think Tarmon Gaidon will be limited to one place. I don't think there will be _any_ safe place. If you want her safe, the best you can do is to stay with her, or bring her along."

Bring her! The thought made him feel sick, even within the _ko'di_.

"I'll have to find someone to look after her," he decided. "I can't… take her into battle. Not the way she is now." She couldn't channel. And even if she had been able to channel, she was exhausted.

"Consider this," Moiraine said. "You need to be fair to her. Don't let her wake and find you gone. Give her a say."

"She'll insist that I bring her," Lan murmured.

"Then _bring_ her. Let her watch over you in any way she can. She has given you life as surely as your mother did. You never valued that life very highly, but remember that _she_ does, and she paid dearly to return it to you. To abandon her now and die on some far-off battlefield would be to spit in her face. Not to mention it might well kill her."

Lan smothered his flinch in the _ko'di_. It took him a moment to compose himself. He looked down to find Moiraine's small hand resting on his wrist. She had risen, somehow without him noticing, and stood beside him. A very small woman, but with all an Aes Sedai's presence. Serenity and command.

Still, she met his questioning gaze with eyes that were surprisingly gentle. "To Nynaeve, you _are_ the world. How do you think she would feel if she woke up and Tarmon Gaidon had passed, and you were dead?"

For a fleeting moment Lan regretted the new bond in his head. If he did fall at the Last Battle, Nynaeve would feel his death as surely as he had felt Moiraine's. That atop losing _saidar_…

For Nynaeve, the outcome of Tarmon Gaidon would be secondary to whether or not _he_ survived. It was a very odd feeling. It made him afraid in a way he hadn't known before. Afraid of dying. Not for his own sake, but for _her_ sake.

"You are right," he concluded. _Ko'di_. A relaxed stance; Lily Caressed By The Wind. Relaxed, but ready to shift just enough not to fall when pushed. "She would not live long."

But would she live longer if he stayed with her? If he brought her along? In the first case… Moiraine was likely right. _Everywhere_ was dangerous. To have the thousands of men and hundreds of channellers about that constituted the Dragon Reborn's forces might be an advantage. Might actually be safer. Or might turn them both into part of the world's greatest target.

She would _want_ to fight. Could he deny her that?

_He_ wanted to fight, Light help him. Could he forgive himself if he didn't?

To speak felt like shifting gravel with his voice. "I will speak with her when she wakes."

Smoothly Moiraine retreated a step and withdrew her hand from his wrist. "Then I will leave you. I must see if Rand needs me. There will be things to organize before all is ready. Light send we will be ready in time. Goodbye, Lan. Light bless you and keep you safe. You, and your wife." She glided with all Aes Sedai serenity for the door.

Before she left, however, he had to _ask_. "Moiraine."

The little woman he had served so long turned in the doorway. "Yes?"

"She… burned herself out. I know what that means." He had to force the words out. Tentacles of fear reached into the _ko'di_. "How long do you think she will live?"

"I think she will live as long as you do," Moiraine crisped. "Get a couple of children on her, and perhaps longer."

He smiled. He knew what it must have cost her cairhienin sense of propriety to add that last. "I think I could manage that."

Moiraine's blank expression told him quite firmly that she did _not_ want any more details. "Then I must be on my way. Tarmon Gaidon will not wait."

Just outside the _ko'di_, concern tingled. For him to feel it, it must have been strong. She was already halfway through the door, turning again to leave; he halted her with a final question. "And what of _your _safety, Moiraine Sedai?"

"Mine?"

He let himself smile. That hasty blink of her eyes; he had surprised her. "I've been your sword and shield for twenty years. I'd like to know that you'll be safe."

"I can take care of myself, Lan. You know that."

"You overtax yourself. I know _that_. You need someone to look after you when you do."

And the secretive smile that spread over her face then made Lan wonder if he knew her at all. It was a smile he had never thought to see on her. "Goodbye, al'Lan Mandragoran. Light willing, we will meet again."

"After twenty years, at least do me the honour of _answering_."

There was laughter in her voice. "If you feel that I need _looking after_, then my new Warder will meet with your approval."

He knew that she would say no more. Moiraine juggled secrets like a gleeman did colourful balls. He had rarely been fast enough to snatch one out of the air from her. So instead of arguing, he nodded slowly. If she had bonded a man, that was enough.

Then he realised that she had not said that she had. _Will meet with your approval_ could be in present or future tense, impossible to tell.

Before he could speak, she had backed out the door and shut it.

Lan sighed, and turned back to Nynaeve. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. He would not disturb her rest. If she slept past the Last Battle, then he would stay and watch her sleep. If she woke… if she wished to ride out, they would ride out. She would never forgive him if he held her back; he would hardly forgive himself for not going.

In either case, he would protect her. Light help him if he did not.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

I realised I wanted to do this addition because Cadsuane interrupted the reunion between Moiraine and Lan, and I was sort of angry to have missed it.

I did this from Lan's point of view, and then again from Moiraine's point of view, and tried to decide between them. I thought I'd post Moiraine's point of view, and do a third chapter from Lan's view, detailing "when Nyneave wakes up". Then I realised I had no idea what to do with such a chapter aside from the obligatory "I'm so glad you're alive", "I don't need saidar as long as I've got you", kiss and hug. So I never wrote it. Thus, I posted the Lan chapter, because it was the better of the two. Hope you like it.


End file.
